The Alpha King and I Could Hear Each Other Only When We Were Apart—So He Moved In Next Door

The first private thought I ever heard from the Alpha King concerned my dress. It was not a diplomatic opinion. It was not a security warning. It was not even particularly dignified. She looks good in red. The words arrived in a deep male voice directly behind my eyes while I stood at a microphone in

Westbridge City Hall publicly explaining why the most powerful wolf in the country had designed a terrible transportation plan. I stopped in the middle of a sentence. 300 people waited in the hearing chamber. Human residents filled one side of the gallery. Wolves from the eight territories filled the other. Reporters occupied every seat near the center

aisle because nothing improved municipal planning coverage like the possibility of an alpha king losing his temper on camera. At the raised council table, Roman Blackwood watched me with silver gay eyes and the controlled expression that had earned him several unflattering nicknames online. The stone king, the winter alpha, the man who looked personally offended by birthday parties.

He was 36, 6'4, and dressed in a charcoal suit with a black tie. His dark hair was cut neatly enough to suggest a government standard. Everything about him communicated authority, restraint, and a total absence of interest in my red dress. I looked toward the technical booth. Miss Bennett, the hearing chair prompted. I

heard something on the audio feed. The technician shook his head. Your microphone is output only. Then someone has found a creative way to misuse public equipment. Roman's eyebrows drew together. She heard that? The same voice, the same impossible intimacy. My pulse jumped. Roman went very still. For 3 seconds, neither of us spoke. Then